Cultivation: I Can Steal Lifespan from Spirit Beasts

Yin Spirit?

Dream Lord?

The words struck Wang Ba like a physical blow, instantly dragging his mind to the Yin Spirit Great Dream Scripture he cultivated.

Memories of Old Man Sun flooded back.

Years ago, when Wang Ba first entered the Eastern Sage Sect, Old Man Sun had been a kind, if mysterious, elder. Shortly after descending the mountain to retire, he had died tragically at home. His newly wedded wives, concubines, and servants had all perished in gruesome, inexplicable ways.

A cold shiver ran down Wang Ba’s spine.

His paranoia had been justified.

There really was a group of people waiting in the shadows.

It was highly probable they were hunting the Yin Spirit Great Dream Scripture. There was also a slim chance they were hunting him specifically as the bearer of the technique.

Regardless of the motive, the conclusion was singular and absolute.

“Risk assessment: Fatal. Strategy: Total isolation. Unless absolutely forced, I will never leave the sphere of influence of the Heavenly Gate Sect.”

The fact that these killers murdered Old Man Sun but failed to storm the Eastern Sage Sect suggested their strength was limited. They dared not breach a major sect’s defenses to drag Wang Ba out.

The Heavenly Gate Sect was far stronger than the Eastern Sage Sect. As long as he remained within these walls, he should be safe.

Just as this thought settled in his mind, Wang Ba suddenly froze.

Inside his Yin Spirit Abode, the dormant Yin Spirit Power began to churn. It swirled with a sudden, sentient excitement, as if greeting a long-lost kin.

Simultaneously, the air in the chicken farm dropped to freezing.

On Shen Fu’s unconscious face, a phantom visage quietly surfaced.

It was a cold, sinister face, painted in garish crimson oil, its eyes shut tight. It looked like a death mask floating on Shen Fu’s skin.

Suddenly, the phantom’s eyes snapped open.

The eyeballs rolled in their sockets at a grotesque angle, then bulged outward on fleshy stalks like a snail’s eyes. They swiveled violently, locking onto Wang Ba with a death stare.

The expression in those stalk-eyes shifted from confusion to shock.

And then, from shock to ravenous greed.

Like a striking viper, the phantom face detached itself from Shen Fu’s flesh and lunged straight for Wang Ba!

The speed was terrifying.

But the disturbance in his Yin Spirit Abode had given Wang Ba a split-second warning.

“Back!”

Wang Ba roared, grabbing Bu Chan and hurling her behind him.

His Spiritual Power erupted. In an instant, he triggered over a dozen Talismans specifically prepared to defend the soul and body. Layers of golden light exploded outward.

The Jade Flow Armor encased his vitals in emerald crystal.

The Flying Yellow Ruler swept beneath his feet, launching him into the air.

Yet, despite his lightning reflexes, the phantom face seemed to mock the concept of space.

The ferocious crimson mask, with its bloodshot, stalking eyes, materialized directly in front of his face.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Wang Ba watched in horror as his defenses failed.

The Protective Armor Talisman, the Wooden Armor Talisman… they shattered like glass. Only the Soul Guarding Talisman offered a microsecond of resistance before dissolving.

It was as if the phantom existed on a different plane of reality, bypassing physical and magical barriers alike.

“What the hell is this?!”

The phantom ignored the barriers and dove straight for the space between his eyebrows—the gateway to his soul.

A pitch-black jade talisman suddenly leaped from Wang Ba’s sleeve. It hovered before his forehead, projecting a faint, somber light to block the intruder.

The Soul Suppressing Jade Talisman.

The phantom face sneered, annoyed.

It slammed into the black light.

The barrier trembled violently.

Wang Ba’s heart sank. After the Sacred Heart Mirror had cracked under the Downcast Divine Light, he had spent a fortune on this High Grade Magical Artifact. It was supposed to be superior in soul defense.

Yet, against this thing, it was crumbling like wet paper.

It wouldn’t last another breath.

And then, the absurdity of reality asserted itself.

A black chicken, shimmering with “multicolored black” feathers, waddled into Wang Ba’s peripheral vision. It looked completely dazed.

“Black Feather Chicken? You idiot! Run!”

Wang Ba wanted to scream, but he couldn’t break his concentration.

To his utter baffling, the chicken ignored the magical duel. It sashayed over, its gait wobbling in that distinctive “out-toed” waddle, and tilted its head at the terrifying ghost face.

It didn’t cluck. It didn’t flee.

Stranger still, Wang Ba swore he saw a glint of… contemplation in its vacuous eyes.

Contemplation? This brain-dead bird? Impossible.

Wang Ba shook his head, purging the distraction. He poured every ounce of Spiritual Power into the Soul Suppressing Jade Talisman.

The trembling light stabilized slightly.

BANG!

The ghost rammed it again. The light fractured.

Then, Wang Ba saw it.

The Black Feather Chicken, swaying its hips like a drunkard, walked right underneath the deadlock between Wang Ba and the ghost. It spotted a fallen ear of Spirit Grain on the ground.

Peck.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

It chewed loudly, oblivious to the life-and-death struggle inches above its comb.

The phantom face instinctively looked down at the interruption. It saw the chicken.

Deciding the bird was a non-threat (specifically, a moron), the ghost ignored it and refocused all its energy on shattering Wang Ba’s soul defense.

BANG!

BANG! BANG!

Each silent impact felt like a sledgehammer to Wang Ba’s chest. The jade talisman was cracking.

The Black Feather Chicken finished its grain. It twisted its neck, looking left and right. No more food.

It looked up.

Its eyes, filled with a pure, unadulterated stupidity, gazed at the world with innocent curiosity.

Then, it saw the shiny red thing hovering above it.

It stretched its neck. It rose onto its tiptoes.

And with the casual impudence of a barnyard animal, it pecked the ghost.

The phantom face, currently in the process of obliterating a High Grade artifact, suddenly froze.

It looked down at its own chin.

A small, insignificant corner was missing.

Peck.

The insignificant gap widened.

“!!!”

The ghost’s expression twisted into pure horror.

It hesitated for a fraction of a second, then abandoned the attack on Wang Ba, turning to flee the farm.

It was too late.

The Black Feather Chicken flapped its wings, hopping up to latch onto the ghost’s face with its claws. It hung there like a bulldog, its black beak pecking rapidly.

Peck. Peck. Rip.

The ghost screamed—a silent, psychic shriek—and struggled violently.

It didn’t matter.

In front of Wang Ba’s stunned eyes, the terrifying, unstoppable soul-monster was devoured. Piece by piece.

The chicken ate it like it was eating a particularly large worm.

Within moments, not even a wisp of smoke remained.

“This… this…”

Behind him, Bu Chan stared, mouth agape. She looked at the silly, fat black chicken that usually followed her Senior Brother around like a lost puppy.

She had never imagined this ugly bird possessed such heaven-defying power.

Suddenly, she understood why Wang Ba—a man who never took risks—allowed this specific chicken to shadow him everywhere.

Wang Ba was equally shocked.

He thought he knew this bird. He had bred it. He had tested it. He had labeled it a failure.

I didn’t understand it at all.

The phantom face was almost certainly a trap left by the killers hunting the Yin Spirit Great Dream Scripture. Wang Ba had exhausted his arsenal and failed. He was seconds away from death.

Yet the Black Feather Chicken had dispatched it in a few moves. It was easier than eating Discarded Spirit Worms.

It wasn’t a fight. It was a meal.

“The Black Feather Chicken is a hard counter to these… things,” Wang Ba realized, his heart racing. “But what exactly was that face monster?”

He felt a mix of relief and confusion.

Was it an illusion, or did the chicken’s dull eyes look slightly sharper after the meal?

“Must be my imagination.”

Wang Ba shook his head and beckoned to the bird.

The Black Feather Chicken ignored him completely. It resumed its waddling search for grain, head bobbing rhythmically.

“Useless idiot,” Wang Ba muttered, though there was no heat in his voice.

“Senior Brother…” Bu Chan rushed to his side, checking him for injuries.

“Not a word of this to anyone,” Wang Ba commanded in a low voice.

Bu Chan nodded vigorously.

They turned their attention to Shen Fu.

He was unconscious. His essence and spirit were severely damaged, but he was alive.

“He lives,” Wang Ba sighed, inspecting the damage. “But wanting to progress further in cultivation… that will be difficult.”

He felt a pang of regret.

He had high hopes for Shen Fu. The boy had good aptitude—reaching Qi Refining fourth layer in a few years was respectable even by Eastern Sage Sect standards. More importantly, Shen Fu had a pure heart.

But fate was cruel.

Bu Chan looked down at her friend, her eyes dimming. Shen Fu had lost his love, and now his future in cultivation was shattered. When he woke up, the reality might break him.

Not long after, a group of sect patrollers descended on the farm.

The leader was a Foundation Establishment True Cultivator, holding a compass that glowed faintly.

“Is it just you three here?” the cultivator demanded, scanning the area.

“Reporting to the Patrol Envoy,” Wang Ba bowed. “Just the three of us. The rest are Rare Fowl and Spirit Poultry.”

The Foundation Establishment cultivator frowned at his compass.

“Strange… the Yin ghost aura has completely vanished.”

He glanced at the unconscious Shen Fu but didn’t press the issue.

“The Sect forbids internal killing,” he warned coldly. “If we find evidence of foul play, the punishment is execution without mercy.”

Wang Ba bowed again, playing the part of the terrified junior.

“Let’s go,” the leader barked to his team. “The compass picks up Incense Fire trails to the southwest…”

The patrol flew off in a hurry.

Eastern Sage Outpost.

Deep in the mountains behind the ruins of the Eastern Sage Sect.

The Divine Chicken, Fan Ming, was suspended in the air, massive chains binding its wings and talons to the surrounding peaks. It struggled silently, its eyes burning with rage.

On a nearby peak, Ning Daohuan sat cross-legged, clutching a black skull.

His face was a mask of frustration.

“Why? I used the Downcast Divine Light to split its primordial spirit… Why can’t I control it?”

“Is the Spirit-Locking Bell the only way?”

He slammed his fist against the rock.

“Damn it! I shouldn’t have let Ji Lan escape!”

Just then, a streak of light cut through the sky—a Message Talisman.

Ning Daohuan suppressed his anger and caught it.

As he listened to the message, his expression shifted from irritation to cold surprise.

“Heretics of the Incense Fire Path attacked Left Path cultivators… and Yin ghosts raised by the Incense Fire Path have infiltrated the Sect…”

“These vermin. How did they find us so quickly?”